


Hospice

by l3ori



Category: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: Cannon Divergence, Complicated Relationships, Drama, F/F, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mild Blood, One-Shots, Rebellion, Underage Substance Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-06 00:02:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14629800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/l3ori/pseuds/l3ori
Summary: A candle consumes itself to illuminate others.Take 1: "Kamijou Kyousuke is dead."Take 2: "Someone was at her door."





	1. She Who Drowned

Kamijou Kyousuke is dead.

Maybe his despair had simply been too strong for the Wraiths to ignore. The sweet corruption of his music dream crushed by the recent frustration with his agent, as well as his failed relationship with Shizuki Hitomi, is exactly the kind of alluring taste they loved.

Kyoko stood over his mangled body.

It didn't really matter. Not really. Because the fact remains - he's dead.

She’s too late.

 _What a stupid boy._ She thought to herself as the surge of panic boiled distantly in her stomach. He never realized what others - _Sayaka_ \- sacrificed for him. Of course he would go ahead and get himself killed.

_Sayaka._

She had been trying very hard not to think about it during the fight. It was a tough battle, if her bloodied outfit was any indication. Still, the guilt had been chewing her away since she saw the violinist in the pile of victim. Now the fight was over, there was nothing else to distract her from the fact.

_Sayaka._

The blue-haired girl was due back to the city in two weeks. Kyoko had been looking forward to seeing her. Before she left with her parents on vacation (to celebrate her graduation from high school), Kyoko had promised to look after the city in her absence. To protect this shithole she saw as a haven.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of things while you’re away.” She had told Sayaka, ruffling her hair as she said lightly.

Sayaka had accepted the affectionate gesture with a huff and a slight pout.

“Don’t overdo yourself.” She had replied. Her worry like the last tinge of summer in the late September, almost imperceptible but present nevertheless. “Don’t get killed.”

Well, Kyoko was not dead, but Kamijou Kyousuke was.

 _Sayaka still loves him._ She thought dully.

And now he laid there. His left hand shredded like how he once ignorantly broke the heart that enabled the miracle. His entrails torn out of his body, splayed across the floor of the fading barrier, interweaving with those of the other victims, piling into a small mountain like dirt.

_The boy Sayaka loves is dead._

What the fuck was she going to do?

She felt the familiar clicking of Homura’s magic before she saw her, before she landed behind her at a respectable distance. She made no attempt to acknowledge her arrival.

It was Homura who broke the silence.

“Kyoko?” She said quietly, carefully.

But the way she heard her name was the loud bang of a bird cage slamming shut.

She knew Homura knew, perhaps even better than her. The gnawing of the monster at the pit of her stomach. The anger and frustration burning like wild forest fire. Kyoko knew from the few times Homura was too delirious to keep her emotion in check, she was a veteran when it came to self-loathing as a perpetual failure to everything she set out to protect.

Welcome to the club. She said it to herself in the best imitation of Homura’s monotone as she could conjure.

She almost laughed. Homura might have mistaken the slight shake of her shoulder as a sob. She cleared her throat.

“Promise me you won't tell.”

She still didn’t turn.

Homura was quiet for a moment, weighing her words. Over the years, they had built a sort of comradeship. A kind of understanding that only people who had screwed up so badly they were past the point of suffering could comprehend.

Homura respected Kyoko. There was no questioning that. If it was more of her style, she might even call her a friend.

“There is nothing we can do now.” She tried to put a little more empathy into those words, and was surprised to find it less difficult than she imagined. “Come morning, they will find him, and everyone here… if you wish to move their remains out of the barrier.”

Kyoko stared at the mountain of mangled limbs. Something dripped and added insignificantly to the remains. She blinked, and realized it came from the wound across her shoulder.

“I thought you’re against wasting time.” She said to the pile.

“I am.” A pause. And an unspoken ‘so did you’. “But Miki-san will likely want something to mourn over.”

Kyoko had no response to that. An invisible hand was choking her.

Of course Sayaka would. It was only fair. She never had a chance to tell this silly boy what he meant for her in life, it was only logical that she would like a chance to say so to his grave. Or at the very least, she’d like a chance to say goodbye.

Because no matter how hard you cried to the heaven, the lost ones would never hear. Could never. The dead do not suffer the livings. The suffering is left to the survivors.

Then, an idea struck her. It was reckless, idiotic, impractical, and probably suicidal.

_Why am I doing this?_

The thought was quieter than the breath of a dead man, drowned out by her own shaky breath as she activated her magic. She forced herself to remember and forget at the same time as she called forth her illusion.

An old man trying to reconstruct every detail of his childhood home, destroyed and lost decades ago. An orphan trying to remember the faces of their parents dead when they were still infants. That’s probably what it felt like.

Her body shook. She felt nauseated. Every inch of her skin was ablaze. Every ounce of her being struggled against her will.

Homura took a step forward in alarm, but stopped herself abruptly.

Kyoko could taste the ashes of the burning church. Pressure built in her head like her brain had become a balloon overinflated to the point of explosion. The buzzing ringing in her ears sounded suspiciously like the dying cry of her mother and Momo, choking on blood.

She remembered a story. Of the mythical bird that reborn from flames. She wondered if it experienced the same excruciating pain of being burned alive.

And then it was over.

She opened her eyes and looked down at herself. White suit. Slender limbs. The build of a young man pampered by love and comfort she never had.

It was wrong. She knew that. The pressure stopped building but did not lessen any. It wanted a way out. Every instinct in her told her to stop. She thought she might throw up, so she dug her nails into her palm.

 _What else can I do?_ She asked the voice pleading for it to stop hurting. _What else is there to be done?_

 _Nothing._ The voice begged. _Just stop it._

Well, too bad. She couldn’t accept doing nothing.

(She ignored the fact the voice sounded like Sayaka’s.)

She whipped around and just caught the tail end of Homura’s rare display of emotion. She might be proud to have brought the slightest of shock and upset to the normally stoic girl, if it hadn’t all faded quicker than lightning.

“Well?” She wheezed.

Homura came up to her and gave her a onceover. With a sigh, she nodded her approval to the disguise.

They stood there, staring at each other.

“Are you sure about this?”

It’s not so much a question but a warning. Nothing good would come out of this. They both knew.

The distorted space around them flickered out of existence.

But the alternative, the truth, was out of the question for Kyoko. No. She would not allow despair to ensnare the one good thing about this world from her. She just needed time to figure out what to do.

“I can’t lose her.” Her voice was low and rough, unfamiliarly muscular to herself. Homura cringed. Kyoko took a deep breath. “I can’t.”

Homura nodded curtly, once. Then, as suddenly as she appeared, she disappeared into the night like she was never there.

Kyoko looked up from the dirty alley. The sky seemed almost the color of bruise. She heard the cheap pop song coming through the backdoor of the bar. _Bunch of whiny wuss._ She thought to herself. _What do they know about love?_

 _What do_ I _know?_

Some foul liquid dripped from the fire escape overhead and landed on her shoulder, precisely where her wound was. She grimaced and staggered out of the way.

Sucking in a deep breath, she looked down to where the pile of corpses was supposed to be. Nothing was left except the empty dread in the pit of her stomach.

Her wounds sizzled like tears on hot iron. Numbly, she wobbled to the opening of the alley and stumbled out into the buzzling street, on her way to Kamijou Kyousuke’s life.

 

* * *

 

 _“'Tis in my memory lock'd,_ _  
_ _And you yourself shall keep the key of it.”_

 

* * *

 

Sayaka came to him a lot faster than Kyoko expected.

“What’s going on with you?”

She barged into his room unannounced (or maybe she did but Kyoko was too absorbed in trying to memorize the pieces he had to perform in the coming concert), kicking down his door and charging in like a white knight coming to rescue the damsel in distress.

(Kyoko only figured out that metaphor much later, once she came off the shock of Sayaka’s early return. She almost choked on the dinner. Kamijou’s father looked up briefly, and his mother chided him for eating too fast. She planned to leave the table after the second serving. She excused herself after the first.)

Sayaka’s sudden appearance nearly gave Kyoko a heart attack. Her shock delayed the usual scowl she would have worn under such circumstance. Her mouth opened just as a customary curse was about to escape.

Then her eyes met the concerned cerulean and she remembered who she was.

And when she did all words evaporated because those were _Kyoko’s_ words, and she was not Kyoko. She was not even Kamijou Kyousuke. She was an ugly monster. A changeling wearing the skin of a dead man.

Some unspecified corner of her mind wondered how anyone could miss the poorly hidden adoration shining in Sayaka’s eyes, least of all when they were the subject of such love and devotion. It sparked a flame of rage just to remember that Kamijou Kyousuke never realized he was the lucky recipient of the miracle someone exchanged their life for. Never realized Sayaka’s love.

The anger must have seeped out despite her best effort, because Sayaka suddenly looked unsure and drew back slightly. A small frown settled between her bangs.

“Kyousuke?”

The intensity of the softly spoken name almost broke Kyoko.

Then she remembered. She’s not Kyoko. Not right now. So she closed her mouth and opened it again in the best imitation of a smile.

“I didn’t realize you are back so fast.”

It was his voice and the appropriate things he would say to his childhood friend (from her observation). Yet somehow it felt like betrayal.

Sayaka arched her eyebrows.

“Well, I'm here.” She plopped down on the same style of leather chair Kyoko (no, she’s not Kyoko, she reprimanded herself but was distracted by how close Sayaka was) sat in. It gave out a small squeak and Kyoko caught herself before she flinched too obviously.

“How was the vacation?”

Several times during their short conversation she almost forgot she was not Kyoko. It had felt like any other conversation they might have (well, perhaps minus the constant consumption of snacks and the good-natured banters).

She could tell Sayaka was still slightly suspicious, but for one reason or another she did not push it once he assured her he was just stressed about the upcoming concert. By the end she looked almost relaxed.

Kyoko observed her fatigue from the travel and patiently suggested she should go home and rest. Sayaka hesitated but did not object.

After she left, Kyoko let the disguise fell with a choked gasp. She slid from the chain and sunk to the floor, screaming voicelessly into her arms. She picked herself up some time later and resolved she had to find an apartment for him.

When she dozed off by the door that night, wary her illusion would break if she fell asleep and Kamijou’s parents would find a stranger in the place of their son, Kyoko suddenly realized something.

She never said Sayaka’s name with his voice.

 

* * *

 

 _“My lord, I have remembrances of yours_  
_That I have longed long to re-deliver._  
_I pray you now receive them.”_

 

* * *

 

Kyoko almost didn’t catch the box of pocky when it sailed through the air straight for her head.

“You tryna kill me or something?”

The lack of aggression in her voice surprised herself. Perhaps she was more tired than she thought (or allowed herself to feel).

Homura flicked her hair back and did not smile. “If that could kill you-”

“Don’t.” She warned.

Homura merely flicked her hair again.

“How long do you intend to keep this up?”

Kyoko opened the box but could not find it in her to eat it. Lately she hadn’t been eating much. The ash of the burned church stuck on her tongue.

“For as long as I have to.”

Homura was quiet for a long while. Kyoko thought she must be judging her foolishness. It was only after the raven-haired Puella Magi spoke she realized she was merely hesitating.

“You know, we could fake some kind of terminal illness for him. That way, Miki-san would have enough time to say her goodbye.”

 _To the wrong person._ Kyoko thought, taking a pocky out and stuffing the box into her pocket.

“Well, we’d have to find a terminal illness that leaves no body behind.” She replied dryly.

“What about an accident? He went on a vacation and never came back?”

Kyoko had to laugh. “Come on, really?”

“It’s not too far from the truth.” Homura pointed out.

“Well, yeah. But…”

“You are killing yourself.”

Kyoko suddenly found the pocky between her fingers extremely interesting.

A car raced down the main street. Tires screeched and there was a loud bang.

“We should go.” Kyoko said. “I don’t want to deal with cops.”

Neither of them moved.

“Are you…” Homura started, paused, and chewed the words in her mind several times. “…punishing yourself?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“That’s not a no.” Homura tilted her head. Her eyes glinted under the dim lamp in the park. “Did you become attached to her affection for him?”

Kyoko’s own eyes glimmered, for an entirely different reason. “You’re awfully talkative today.”

“I know it’s insulting,” Homura backed off with a slight bow of her head. “But it had to be asked.”

Kyoko looked away. Her phone (which Sayaka insisted she must have and even bought and paid monthly for her until she got a part-time job) buzzed in the pocket of her shorts.

“I have to go.”

“Take care.” Homura said. Then looked to the floor by her boots. “Don’t forget the Grief Cubes.”

Kyoko knew Homura saw her Soul Gem, but was considerate enough to not say anything. She hid her grimace and limping as she bent to pick up the cubes, and hobbled out of sight as quickly as she could.

She may have magic, but she’s not a fucking miracle worker.

 

* * *

 

 _“Well, God'ield you! They say the owl was a baker’s daughter._  
_Lord, we know what we are, but know not what we may be._  
_God be at your table.”_

 

* * *

 

Sayaka knew it wasn’t really Kamijou Kyousuke performing on the stage right now.

Of course she knew. His music was pure and single-minded and gently cruel. There was no room left for others in his world besides the great passion between bow and strings. In his every breath there was music, and it was only through music he lived.

So of course Sayaka noticed the jagged dissonance in the chords, even through the poor reception of the radio.

Kyousuke didn’t weave the notes like they were stolen shards of broken glasses. Like he was in pain every time his hands pushed and pulled his instrument. Like the strings were flame licking at his fingers.

To her, every note he played from that day forth was a desperate cry. A plea too sorrowful for her to bear. Nobody understood it. Or maybe those who could never heard it.

Hitomi never listened to classical music ever again, as far as Sayaka knew. They still met occasionally to catch up, if the green-haired woman could find time in her busy schedule. They remained somewhat close friends, although never as close as they once were, before that fateful month in junior high that changed everything.

They never talked about Kyousuke when they met. It was an unspoken rule. A sacred trust between friends who did not want to hurt each other.

Or maybe they realized it was a double-edged sword.

But now, sitting at the front-row only a few seats from the Kamijous, Sayaka wished desperately that Hitomi was here.

Had she been there, she could surely tell that this was not Kyousuke’s music. Had she been there, Sayaka would not be alone in the revelation and understanding. Had Hitomi been there, she would have enough courage to tell the critics that praised the unadultured emotion between the notes, the parents who couldn’t even sense something amiss with their own child, the rest of the world that frenzied over this new Kyousuke, that they were utterly, hopelessly wrong.

When the concert ended, she was the only one who did not join the standing ovation.

She did not realize what those dissonance meant until now. Until those gray eyes met hers and he smiled at her like she was the only person he played for.

Now she understood, she was angry and insulted.

Of course Sayaka knew it was not Kyousuke who stood on the stage. She had known it the first time she heard this new Kyousuke played.

The only reason she didn’t confront ‘him’ the first chance she had was because she wanted to know what’s really going on. Or so she told herself.

She had meant to shove the ‘new Kyousuke’ to the wall and threaten ‘him’ until ‘he’ told her where the real Kyousuke was. But she swallowed any emity the moment she pushed open the door to his room and their eyes made contact.

Because Kyousuke - his imposter, really - actually _looked_ at her. And she couldn’t give up the illusion that she was, for once, actually reflected in those gentle gray pools that shone like starlight.

It was only after she left the Kamijou residence, on her way back home, that she remembered what she had set out to do. She remembered because Kyousuke never could love anything like he loved his violin, but what was reflected in the windows of the soul wrapped under the costume ran deeper.

That day, Sayaka became painfully aware she was for once on the receiving end of devotion.

 

* * *

 

 _“He is dead and gone, lady,_  
_He is dead and gone,_  
_At his head a grass-green turf,_  
_At his heels a stone.”_

 

* * *

 

Sayaka had her suspicion- no, maybe that’s not the right way to phrase it. They had grown much closer than she ever expected. It was both a blessing and a curse, because she saw in Kyoko’s eyes the same gentle passion she had grown used to seeing and came to realize she had come too far to give it up.

“Kyoko!”

Homura’s voice shook her out of her daze. Time caught up to her and she saw crimson twirling in the air, like maple leaves dancing on autumn wind.

“Tch…!”

Except it was not any kind of plantation but fire, fiery red hair and blood, blood, so much blood. Some of it splashed onto her face.

She reached out her hand too late, too late to catch the falling Kyoko. Too late to stop herself from connecting all the dots and recognizing everything leading up to this point and where it would inevitably end up.

Distantly, she could hear arrows wheezing through the air and decimate the rest of the Wraiths. She paid it no mind, just staring, staring at Kyoko who was trying and failing to get back up but refused to give in to the pain.

Homura landed between them and shot each of them an icy glare.

“What the _hell_ are you doing?” Homura sneered, but to whom, Sayaka wasn’t sure.

“Lay off, will ya?” Kyoko panted. “I slipped is all.”

Sayaka stood motionless, fixated on the way the redhead’s shattered rib cage rose and fell jaggedly with each pained breath.

“Can you move?” Homura asked. Sayaka had never seen Homura quite this angry before. That must be what stopped her from functioning properly.

“Just give me a minute.” Kyoko grumbled. “Or a hand. Christ…”

Homura did offer a hand, but not to pull her up. She pushed Kyoko down to the ground.

“I wasn’t asking you to puncture your organs with your broken bones.” She spat out, then looked up at Sayaka. Her words were polite, but they were colder than ice.  “Miki-san, I believe it’s your time to shine now.”

Sayaka nodded and kneeled down beside Kyoko, but she had no idea what she was doing.

The moment of chaos gradually caught up to her and she slowly came to realize what happened. She made a mistake, was about to suffer the consequence, and then… and then… Kyoko ‘slipped’ and got in the way between her and the attack.

She placed a hand on Kyoko’s shoulder. Too quickly. Too roughly. Kyoko sucked in a sudden breath.

“Jesus, woman. Be more gentle, will ya?”

“So-sorry.” She stammered, and shivered a little. It was too close. She had once again walked on the edge of a knife. She had almost died. Again.

Kyoko smirked, which flickered into a grimace when her wounds complained again. But she was strong, and she smiled again.

“A year and still a rookie.”

“Shut up.”

The music notes danced in the pale blue light, slowly closing the most severe wounds. Sayaka focused on her task, moving from the one the size of a basketball at Kyoko’s waist to her half missing thigh to the deep cut from her neck to -

Kyoko caught her hand.

“You can stop now.” The redhead said quietly.

Sayaka looked at her, uncomprehending.

Kyoko nodded to her midriff. “Your Soul Gem.” She said simply, still having trouble breathing. “Here, Homura’s divided the grief cubes up for us. Use yours.”

Homura had disappeared at some point, leaving only the two of them in parking lot of the abandoned mall. Sayaka tried to recall when Homura had left, but could find no answer.

When Sayaka made no move to retrieve the prize, Kyoko rolled her eyes and pressed one to the muddied sapphire. Then another. Then another. Until she felt lightheaded, like she was floating above clouds.

“Hey.”

She looked to Kyoko’s face. Their eyes met, and again Sayaka saw the gentle fire, burning almost too bright for her to look at.

(From the corner of her eyes Sayaka saw Kyoko’s Soul Gem was still quite tainted, even though she had already used half of her share. A part of her wanted to tell Kyoko to take what remained of her own share and use it, but she had magically lost her voice.)

“Hey.” Kyoko said again, perhaps more warmly than she intended.

She had come too far to give it up.

“I’m alright.” Kyoko wiped away the tears she didn’t even know she was shedding. “A good night’s rest, and I’ll be up in no time.”

Kyousuke was gently cruel. Kyoko was cruelly gentle.

 

* * *

 

 _“There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance;_  
_pray, love, remember;_  
_and there is pansies, that’s for thoughts.”_

 

* * *

 

Kyoko passed out as soon as she dragged herself through the apartment door. She woke up when her cheek hit the floor.

She scowled in reflex and suffered the consequence. Her magic sputtered and barely managed to heal the latest of her injuries. Her limbs shook, muscles locking every so often as she pushed herself further into the room. Her movement ragged like a broken marionette.

If it was Mami (who had left the city for college), she would have found a more tactful solution to all these. Maybe if she was still here, Kamijou wouldn’t have died in the first place.

She gave up on her attempt of dragging herself to bed and stayed on the wooden floor. She thought she saw an ant scurrying away into the shadow of her furniture.

It had been a month after the whole charade started. A little over three weeks since Sayaka returned from the vacation. She didn’t realize during the first few days, but keeping up the facade as both Sakura Kyoko and Kamijou Kyousuke was probably going to do her in a lot faster than she expected. And still, Kyoko had no idea what else she could do.

Suddenly she remembered and looked up to the wall. She had hung up a calendar, and tomorrow was marked with a blue pen.

“Damn it.” She barked out a rough laughter only she could hear. “God fucking damn it.”

Kamijou was supposed to go on a date with Sayaka tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

 _“There’s fennel for you, and columbines;_  
_there’s rue for you, and here’s some for me;_  
_we may call it herb of grace o’ Sundays._  
_O, you must wear your rue with a difference.”_

 

* * *

 

Sayaka glared at the face outside her door like she could will it to spontaneously combust.

Kyoko probably didn’t realize her magic was failing her, or she doubted she would dare knocking on her door. She wore a black tank top underneath white dress shirt, which she only bothered with the third and fourth buttons, and a pair of jeans Sayaka was fairly certain Kyousuke did not own. With the illusion on the verge of collapsing, Sayaka could almost see the thinner, smaller frame draped underneath.

And the remnant of the cut on her neck, from yesterday.

Sayaka remembered how the blood oozed out from between Kyoko’s fingers. It practically gave Kyoko a new collar.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, colder than revenge.

“Huh?” Kyoko blinked in confusion. Kyousuke’s gray eyes flickered to the shade of sunset for the briefest of moment. “Taking you to dinner.”

“No you aren’t.”

Kyoko frowned with Kyousuke’s face. It had been years since she had given up on him, but her heart tugged still for no reason at the disappointment.

“Why not? I thought we had this planned…”

“Are you really in a position to go anywhere?” Sayaka interrupted with raised voice. She couldn’t say whether she felt more exasperated or annoyed. “Look at you!”

The fear fleeting past those eyes as it flickered to red once again sent a surge of something akin satisfaction through her heart. She refrained from reaching out.

“I-I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh for the love of-”

Her fingers missed the cut on the neck and shoved her shoulders. Kyoko went down like a house of cards.

“You almost _died_ yesterday!”

This time the illusion fell completely away and she saw Kyoko’s stunned expression. But she recovered quickly.

“I-I’m not-” She panicked. “I didn’t- I don’t-”

“Don’t make me say it.”

Because there were things that, once said, could never be ignored again.

Kyoko opened his mouth but shut it without saying a word. Then, like a wolf defeated and shamed in battle, she slunk back.

“O-okay.” She took a shaky breath, and slowly picked herself up from the floor. She moved like someone in gray pain.

Sayaka watched Kyoko limped back two steps. Her face was now a blur that was neither Kyousuke’s nor Kyoko’s. All she could recognize was pale skins and-

“I didn’t- I didn’t mean to…”

Her words were so quiet Sayaka wondered whether it was also part of the illusion. Like dry paint they crumbled.

“I’m so…”

Kyoko knew she fucked up the moment her knees gave out suddenly. She could see nothing but the alarmed and scared look on Sayaka’s face as she reached out for a second time, her fingers outstretched.

There was that familiar buzzing in her ears again, so deafening she couldn’t hear anything else. But unlike when she forced herself to use her illusion magic, there was no fire. Only the cold and damp fingers of corruption caressing her, clinging to her.

She wondered if the mythical bird which reborn from flames also die in this fashion. If flames and light gave it life, surely this dark miasma would be its death.

Her vision swam like she was suddenly under water. Her limbs were tied down with the rocks of her sins and dragging, dragging, dragging her down. Away from the light and warmth. Away from heaven.

“...!”

But she did see Sayaka’s lips move. And for a blissful moment before darkness swallowed her up, she allowed herself to hope Sayaka was calling out her name.

 

* * *

 

 _“There’s a daisy._  
_I would give you some violets,_  
_but they wither’d all when my father died._  
_They say he made a good end,—_

 

* * *

 

Kyoko woke up in Sayaka’s bed.

Sayaka was kneeling on the floor beside her, head resting on the sheet. She trapped one of Kyoko’s wrists in her hand like a handcuff.

Kyoko tried to get up, but soon as she did her vision darkened again. She nearly doubled over in pain.

Sayaka awoke almost instantly, her hand on Kyoko’s wrist squeezed down tightly and the other worked to gently lay her back down.

“I did what I could, but-” she trailed off with a sigh.

Kyoko tried to call out to her, but all she managed was a strangled wheeze. Sayaka sat up and reached for a cup of water she prepared by the bedside table. Kyoko pushed herself up again, more gingerly this time.

Sayaka fed her the water, tipping the cup so slowly Kyoko nearly lost her patience. She didn’t try to snatch the cup away only because she was certain she would spill it on Sayaka’s bed.

She drank eagerly, and Sayaka continued tipping the cup until the last drop. Her gesture was so awkward, Kyoko noted, she wondered whether Sayaka ever had to take care of someone else.

All the while, Sayaka was quiet and her expression unreadable.

Once Kyoko was done, she turned to put the cup away, before settling down on the bed, sitting shoulder to shoulder with Kyoko.

Kyoko cleared her throat.

“How long was I…?”

She felt a sudden weight on her shoulder. Something soft and blue tickled her cheek. It prevented her from turning to look.

“Sayaka?”

“Your Soul Gem was almost completely black.” She whispered. “What the _hell_ were you thinking?”

Kyoko wondered whether she should even try. “How long?”

“It’s Sunday, so a day and half.”

“No, I mean, how long have you…?”

Sayaka gripped her forearm. “Does it matter?”

She supposed not.

“Why?”

Kyoko briefly considered replying with the same question she asked just a pause ago. “Do we have to talk about this now?”

“You made me say it, so yes. Yes we have to.”

 _No you haven’t._ She wanted to say. _And if we leave right now we can find you somewhere safe and warm. I can find a way to make you smile, to make you happy, even just for one more day._

She swallowed the bitter taste of morning breath - was it even morning? She couldn’t tell. The drapes were closed. They were shut off from the rest of the world, and in this world there was no dusk or dawn, only a tacet that separated the two touching bodies.

“Because-” She struggled to find her voice. To find a way to tell the truth without saying anything at all. “Because I’m selfish.”

Sayaka’s nails dug into her skin, as if trying to stop her, although the rest of her were still as a statue. If not for the pain shooting up her arm, Kyoko might have thought she had fallen asleep.

“I told you in the beginning, didn’t I?” And now she had started, nothing could stop anyway. “I’m a selfish person. Everything I do is to benefit myself.”

Sayaka extracted herself from her side. Kyoko squeezed her eyes shut a moment, mentally preparing herself for her just punishment. They turned to each other at the same time.

She expected a wide range of reaction from her, definitely an enraged slap or fist, or perhaps Sayaka would simply walk out to find some Wraiths to take out her aggression. Maybe they would spar, and if that’s the case Kyoko had every intention to take a couple well deserved hits if she could atone for the sacrilege.

Instead, Sayaka turned fully to her, and cupped her cheek. She was locked in those ocean blue eyes.

“I already-” She began with trembling voice, then stopped and shook her head. “You are an idiot. You know that?”

Kyoko expected those words, but not the way Sayaka oh-so-gently spoke them. Much less for their distance to be suddenly closed until all she could feel was soft and warm and salty moisture against her lips.

She pushed back on instinct.

That night, her fingers traced her body like like they were the strings on violin. It was no different from what she had been doing for the past six months, repeating the desperate, silent prayers to be absolved of the horrible deeds committed.

Only this time, the soft sighs and moans from Sayaka fused with her solo into a duet.

 

* * *

 

_“For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy.”_

 

* * *

 

When Kyoko woke the next morning, Sayaka was gone.

She kneeled by the bedside that still smelled like raspberry and did not ask for forgiveness. But she did pray for the last time to the silent heaven.

Just because you see a tragedy coming, doesn't mean it won't break your heart.

 

* * *

 

 _“When down her weedy trophies and herself_  
_Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide;_  
_And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up:_  
_Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes;_  
_As one incapable of her own distress,_  
_Or like a creature native and indued_  
_Unto that element: but long it could not be_  
_Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,_  
_Pull’d the poor wretch from her melodious lay_  
_To muddy death.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N (Added May 15 2018):  
> I forgot to type author's note again.  
> Anyway, the title came from the album from The Antler. It's not exactly the inspiration, per se, because I haven't finished the story that was actually inspired by it. This started as something of its backstory, and well, now that I finished this I'm not sure I can keep the setting consistent.  
> As many would notice, the interludes between each segment all came from Shakespeare's Hamlet, where some suspected Kyoko's Witch Name, Ophelia, came from. (Or was it confirmed? I can't remember...) I did a shitty job at paralleling the fierce love and decent to insanity. Sorry.  
> Reviews and feedback are always highly appreciated.


	2. Bear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're screaming  
> And cursing  
> And angry  
> And hurting me  
> And then smiling  
> And crying  
> Apologizing"  
> \- Epilogue by The Antlers

The content sigh behind her was so quiet, one could easily mistake it with the soft whistling between the crack of windows.

Kyoko stirred.

Something light as feather draped across her body. A finger traced circles on the back of her hand, leading her on a leash toward the realm of awareness.

She responded with a tired groan.

The tickling sensation continued, spreading upwards. To her wrist, forearm, elbow, then…

“For someone of a religious upbringing, your knowledge in this sort of things is certainly impressive.”

Kyoko clung to the sweet darkness of sleep, willing it to return. It was much too late. She needed to get up on time tomorrow, or she risked losing the bonus. And god she needed that bonus.

“What?” The teasing laugh ghosted over her ears. “Tired after a little bit of exercise?”

Kyoko pushed back subconsciously, scowling a smile.

“Shut up.”

By the time she realized her mistake, it had been too late. The sound of her own voice echoing in the empty room jolted her awake. Her weight fell through the body behind that never existed. And her own fingers brushed against bedsheet chilled by the night and her solitude, grasping for the phantom of a long abandoned dream.

She snarled an empty threat at the part of her mind that dared to suggest grief. It withered away under her wraith. But she was already awake, and angry at herself.

She got up and nearly pulled out some of her crimson locks in frustration. She knew there would be no more rest that night, so she did the only thing she could and got up to make herself some coffee. The cheap powder dissolved against boiling water, and she drank like someone dying of thirst, uncaring the burns sprouting from her lips to her tongue to wherever it went afterward.

Sometimes being a magical girl was indeed convenient. She didn’t even feel the damage, only the boiling water at the pit of her stomach, fighting with the invisible flame.

Kyoko dreamt every night. Sometimes she woke up with a faint smile, which lingered until she remembered all there was to remember. More often than not, the dreams kept her awake with the taste of rotten apple.

It was her own fault she was in this situation, she knew that. She had seen it coming miles away. But she did the best she could and if that was not enough, what else could she have done? Even if she was given the chance to start over a thousand times, she had no doubt she would have chosen the same. And so, beggar can’t be chooser.

She contemplated lying back down and staring at the ceiling until the alarm rang, but just the thought itself made her shiver again.

She kept to the left side of the bed nowadays, despite it being quite small to begin with. Just one of those habits, she supposed, that developed out of necessity, lingered even after the need for enforcement no longer existed, and just stuck with her like a tattoo. Like how she still closed her hands before a meal in thanks. Like how she still fought to protect the streets whenever she could. Like how she still looked for…

Like a lot of things, she supposed.

She made herself a second cup, and proceeded much slower this time. She was out of milk and sugar (and many things besides, to be honest), so she took the instant coffee black. It felt like she was drinking mud.

And it was fitting, because at nights like this the memory always came back, and they tasted worse than anything she had ever consumed (and she had, out of desperation, ingested many unsavory things). Because she would always remember Sayaka’s brilliant smile and how it had been another lifetime.

If one was to ask whether Sayaka was ever happy when they were together, Kyoko could not answer with any degree of certainty. After so much time, she could no more tell the differences between pieces of scattered dreams and broken shards of memories than a blind man feeling for razors among shattered glasses.

Same difference, when you’ve lost someone to their own volition.

She closed her eyes and hid her face in her arms. If she stayed with her castle of shame, maybe she would not have to fall apart all over again.

 

* * *

 

She woke to low, irregular heartbeats. Knuckles against wood.

Someone was at her door.

It’s probably her old drunk of a neighbor. God knows she should really file a complaint to the landlord. She buried herself deeper in her misery and tried to get back to sleep. It was definitely not time to get up yet.

But the knocking, insistent as her past, refused to cease. And before she fell to the dreamless sleep, the sound morphed with memories of her father knocking on others’ doors, begging them to listen. 

Kyoko got up, irritable, pushing the messy hair out of her face. She knew she looked like hell, but maybe that would be a good thing and teach her neighbor a lesson.

She marched up to the door, a fist forming in preparation to make acquaintance with her annoying neighbor while the other throwing open the door abruptly.

Then she caught herself.

No, not really. She didn't catch anything. Her heart leapt at the incredible sight in front of her, then took a spectacular dive worthy of all sport medals in the world. And she stood there dumb and confused and afraid and relieved all compressed into one giant ball of emotion that equated to rapidly beating damnation.

Her visitor cocked her head at first, and Kyoko was suddenly blinded by the ashen reflection of drifting snow past the doorway. Moonlight bruised her unexpected guest who stood stark against the lonely night.

_ I must be dreaming. _ She thought numbly, staring, feeling her heart breaking all over again.

Her salvation and nightmare stood leaning against her door frame, shivering as if she had never felt warmth.

And for reasons she couldn’t comprehend, what she thought had died long time ago stirred back to life.

Sayaka tilted her head and smiled, but offered no greeting nor explanation of where she had been for the past three years. Kyoko wasn’t sure whether the lack of movement was due to fatigue. All she could focus on was the pair of blue eyes captivating hers.

And Sayaka smiled an innocent, mirthless smile.

“I’m pregnant.”

 

* * *

 

_ She’s too thin. _ Kyoko decided.  _ Weightless. A breeze could carry her away. _

The thought scared her, so she ducked behind the kitchen counter and rummaged through her drawers. She could feel Sayaka’s curious gaze on her back, and she had to suppress both the tears and the urge to stand up and scream.

_ What more do you want from me? _

“Okay, so.” She mumbled from somewhere out of sight.

Sayaka leaned on the counter to hear her. Kyoko heard it but didn’t dare look up, afraid of what she’d see from the reflection. She weighed her options as her hand trailed through boxes and bags of her reservoir. She peeked out, ashamed.

“I have pasta.”

Sayaka blinked. And started laughing.

“What?”

Sayaka was laughing so hard she had tears streaming freely down her cheeks. Kind of like raindrops clinging to Kyoko’s dirty apartment windows which blurred the sky outside. (She never did anything about it, but she also never stopped looking out either.)

“Nothing.” Sayaka said. She was breathless, wiping the corner of her eyes.

There was a snake coiling around her lungs. It squeezed down. Kyoko growled, or at least she thought she did.

“Don’t make fun of me.”

Her voice was so quiet, so tired, so defeated. Even the words themselves felt wrong as soon as they slipped out. She hated it. She hated what this reunion was doing to her and how she hated absolutely nothing about it at all.

They stared at each other, Kyoko wounded and challenging, and Sayaka surprised and amused. The scene was all too familiar. With a start, Kyoko realized what it was. They were actresses who had their scripts exchanged the night before the grand performance.

“I’m not.” Sayaka hummed, smiling with her chin resting against her palms. She was oblivious of Kyoko’s discomfort. Or perhaps just didn’t care about it enough. Another smile crept up to her lips, and Kyoko loathed the mocking innocent of it. “I’m just really happy.”

Kyoko swallowed the lump on her throat. She was the first to look away.

_ You had my heart. _

“About what? Pasta?”

“No.” Sayaka stood up and sauntered to her side. She was smiling that infuriatingly fake smile which once upon a time would have driven Kyoko mad with fury and passion.

Now she just stood there, mute and numb, observing their proximity from the next galaxy.

Sayaka leaned in, her lips barely grazing Kyoko’s. Her breath burning, bitter cold, sent shivers down Kyoko’s spine and lit fire in her stomach. She realized she was shaking only when their skin touched.

But then Sayaka’s gaze softened and flickered like pale wintry stars. She drew back and stole yet another handful of fragmented souls from Kyoko she wasn’t even aware she still had.

Sayaka stared at her as with one eyebrow raised, as if daring her to speak.

Kyoko gritted her teeth and balled her fists and smothered the boiling emotion from where she imagined her soul was. She turned and proceeded to shove a banged-up pot under the faucet with more force than required.

Sayaka didn’t push for her reaction. She stalked back to the chair, light-footed.

By the time Kyoko moved the half full pot to the stove, she was almost calm enough to assess the situation more rationally. Homura had been a good influence on her like that.

And then, of course, Sayaka had to speak again.

“I’m sorry.”

Kyoko pretended to not hear it over the still running faucet (which she totally didn’t intentionally forget to turn off). And she reminded herself. Pain is optional.

 

* * *

 

They always fought for dominance. Who gets the last word in an argument. The last stick of pocky in the box. It was their way of passion, and it had started long before they had tangled themselves up in this mess.

If there was one element that defined Sakura Kyoko, it would have been fire. She was driven by the anger of the unfairness showered on her father. She was reborn (or left over, depending on how you view it) from the blood that took her family. She lived until her own heat created sparks with someone of her equal, until they could create a fire together.

Fire could warm. Fire could shine. But at the same time, fire could also burn and hurt and drive away. It was at Sayaka’s unannounced departure that Kyoko realized, with laughters that would not die and tears that would not dry, that she had forgotten the very nature of flame.

And afterwards she bore the cross the way she was supposed to. When there’s no one else there to share the fire, it consumes its owner.

As the days rolled by, she had become accustomed to the dying flame.

When you grow old enough, your emotion is no longer a rollercoaster ride. You learn to apply the brake, or better yet, hammer the railroad flat so that you never risk the fall.

She thought she had it all figured out.

And then again she watched it all went up in flame.

 

* * *

 

She didn’t need to ask.

Sometimes she would catch a faraway look on Sayaka’s face, as she fiddled with her Soul Gem absent-mindedly with one hand, and stroking her belly with the other.

Sayaka was lean and pale when she came to Kyoko’s door, but Kyoko had set her mind to fix that. And she did. Months later, Sayaka had regained her natural color. In these time, she had begun to show.

Kyoko made it a ritual to stand by the door and watch Sayaka from a distance. She wasn’t sure whether she had any place in her life anymore. She waited for either invitation or rejection, but was content with just being there to witness it all.

One day Sayaka asked, without looking back to Kyoko by the door. “Aren’t you going to ask?”

“Ask what?”

The hand stroking the belly ceased, and Sayaka turned fully to Kyoko. She looked, for the first time since her sudden arrival, surprised. And Kyoko wasn’t sure if it was her misconception, but Sayaka also looked lost. But only for the briefest of moment.

Something fleeting flashed across the youthful feature of her mermaid princess. But she voiced none of those.

Instead, when Sayaka did speak again, it was full of something Kyoko was afraid to make sense of.

“You are an idiot, you know that?”

It was the tenderness that made Kyoko realize what Sayaka was asking about. She shifted on her feet, while a hand scratched her cheek with embarrassment. God she felt like a sheepish high-schooler in love.

“Well.” She shrugged. Maybe she was. It didn’t matter. “What’s for dinner?”

Sayaka laughed. And it wasn’t one of those half-smile that seemed to have molded onto her face recently. It was joyful. It was real.

“Dummy.” She quipped lightly.

It was pleasant. Kyoko didn’t even realize she was smiling too. Kind of like taking a stroll in a spring evening, surrounded by the comforting fragrance of blooming flowers.

A piece of her mind told her this wouldn’t last. That it wouldn’t lead anywhere good. Just like last time.

She told it to shut up.

Sayaka was still chuckling as she got up from her seat by the dirty window. “Go take a shower.” She chided with the first hint of motherly love. “It will be ready when you come out.”

Kyoko shrugged again and retreated from the room.

It never occurred to her to ask. Now that she thought about it, she supposed it  _ was _ quite odd. But at the same time, the only important question (as far as she was concerned, anyway) was what Sayaka wanted to do with the baby. And since the answer to that was quite obvious, she never thought to question anything else.

Besides, there were plenty other stuff to worry about. Sayaka only ever said it once when they were much younger, but Kyoko could tell she was still very much bothered by the fact she was a “zombie”.

Kyoko never convinced her otherwise and, knowing how stubborn Sayaka could be, she had settled to show her she was as human as anybody else by actions and not words.

_ Besides. _ She thought to herself as she retrieve her clothes.  _ I had my own things to worry about too. _ Now that Sayaka was here, Kyoko would need to find a second job to make up for the expense.

How her meager salary was going to support Sayaka and the child was beyond her. Still, the prospect of a purpose alone was enough to send her skipping through the city.

It really didn’t matter who the father was.

 

* * *

 

As with most tragedy of her life, the bad news came unannounced, unprompted, and caught her off guard.

She rushed to the hospital when she got the call. Her blood was frozen solid with fear. She couldn’t drive way the image of her father hanging from the beam of the church, accompanied by the unmoving bodies of her dear mother and baby sister whence the river of blood came from.

She sat in agony outside on the bench. Mami was coming. Madoka too, and probably bringing Homura.

She had informed them of Sayaka’s return (with her permission, oddly enough). And although Sayaka had shunned away from any human contact aside from Kyoko (she tried not to think about it too much, lest she got her hope up again for nothing), they were presences Kyoko could count on at time of crisis like this. She didn’t trust herself enough to comfort others.

The doctors emerged from the operating room before any of them arrived.

And Kyoko didn’t need to ask to know what happened.

She knew it was not her fault, but she couldn’t stop blaming herself anyway.

 

* * *

 

As with most obstacles in their life, this particular problem was not a question of “what to do next”, but rather a statement pointing out “good things never last”.

That’s why Kyoko did not remove Sayaka from her room, from the fortress of pillow and blanket in front of the television, after the days she lost the child.

It wasn’t until she was sorting through the bill, days later, that she realized there was only buzzing snowflakes on the machine for quite some time. She had avoided looking at Sayaka’s face thus far, fearing she would lose her resolve to be strong when they both needed her strength and income. And every day she returned the house was quiet and she was too tired and afraid to check on Sayaka.

But presently she threw down the bill at the realization, and barged into the room.

Sayaka sat unmoving in front of the television where she had left her.

Kyoko came to her side, and kneeled down next to her.

Sayaka did not react in any way, simply let Kyoko carefully pull her into her arms. Her eyes never left the snowy screen, unseeing.

And Kyoko waited. She had always waited. She figured this wasn’t that different.

After an eternity, Sayaka relaxed in her arms. Her voice was hoarse even in whisper.

“His room was going to be painted blue and red.”

Kyoko stroke her hair. It had grown long, passing her shoulder. She murmured something of acknowledgement, even though they never talked about the child and the arrangement after Sayaka gave birth. It even came as a surprise to Kyoko that it would be a boy.

“And there’d be a lot of model airplanes hanging from the ceiling.”

How could you break your heart for someone yet still willing to give them them everything you have left?

“And when he had nightmares, we’d both go rock him back to sleep.”

She could hear the nonexistent mobile hanging above the curb they could not afford. Another life cut short. How could this world be so cruel when it had given her the best thing that ever happened to her?

“I’d play him classic musics. And you’d tell him all those stories about heroes and miracles.”

Stories where love and courage triumphed. Fairy tales that had no place in their life. Their world. Kyoko would have given up anything to bring Sayaka such a world, but for that to happen, it would still have been too perfect of a world. A world where she could have been something more than a sorry excuse of life. A world where she was for once the hero who saved the day instead of the abandoned child nobody cared enough to take with them.

“And…”

It started raining. She pulled her closer to shelter her from the downpour.

“...and he would be the happiest child ever. You’ve always been so good with kids, Kyoko. I’ve always known.”

She wasn’t living in abandoned buildings under collapsed roofs anymore. But the rain drenched the front of her shirt anyway.

All she ever wanted was to protect her. Consequences be damned.

And it must be something in Sayaka’s voice or the way her lips curved against her collarbones or something equally ridiculous that made Kyoko realize that, fuck it, she still loves her.

“You’d be a great parent.”

Kyoko wasn’t sure who said that. She pulled away just long enough so she could tilt Sayaka’s chin up and kiss her. Gently. Calmingly.

Sayaka reciprocated with the ferocity of a storm. She clung to her for dear life, searching, begging to be anchored. And Kyoko gave her everything and more.

In the end, she touched their foreheads together. All the hope and despair and pain and love and loneliness and everything she did and did not understand melted into the greatest confession of a lifetime. A whisper that blew hope into her fucked up life.

“Will you marry me?”

Sayaka smiled through her tears and kissed her back.

But she never gave a reply.

 

* * *

 

The next day, Kyoko walked into the bathroom to find a mermaid bathed in crimson.

 

* * *

 

“Are you going to be okay?”

She looked up to see Mami’s concerned face. She pulled her lips up into a tired smile and looked through her mentor, to the grey sky behind.

Madoka was beside herself with grief when she graced Kyoko with her presence just moments ago. She had pulled the smaller girl into a somewhat awkward hug to offer her condolences and let go before the gentle-hearted young woman could cling to her for comfort (or was it the other way around?)

Kyoko handed Madoka back to Homura, who stood one step behind and watched the scene unfold with the same detachment she had grown quite used to.

(She was ignoring the sympathetic sorrow in her friend’s eyes, because if she admitted she had seen it, she would have to also admit there was a hole ripped from her soul. Again.)

“I'll be fine.” She told Mami, but she wasn’t fooling anyone.

A survivor she may be, but there was only so many times something could break before it was deemed irrevocable destroyed.

Looking up to the bright blue sky that resembled all and nothing of the love of her life’s eyes, Kyoko wondered.

She wondered if there’s anything else left in her to break.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N (Added July 20 2018):  
> Quality control.
> 
> A/N (Added May 15 2018):  
> I forgot to type author's note again.  
> Anyway, the title came from the album from The Antler. It's not exactly the inspiration, per se, because I haven't finished the story that was actually inspired by it. This started as something of its backstory, and well, now that I finished this I'm not sure I can keep the setting consistent.  
> As many would notice, the interludes between each segment all came from Shakespeare's Hamlet, where some suspected Kyoko's Witch Name, Ophelia, came from. (Or was it confirmed? I can't remember...) I did a shitty job at paralleling the fierce love and decent to insanity. Sorry.  
> Reviews and feedback are always highly appreciated.


End file.
